I arrived in Quebec City ready to hit the trails as soon as dark fell. I don’t like waiting. Especially when it’s sunny outside. But today I have no choice. Duty calls. When I arrive at my carefully chosen and incisively positioned hotel, after diligently visiting all my customers, I get suited up, even though I am exhausted mentally and tired emotionally and kind of sore everywhere physically and just want to binge watch Santa Clara Diet. I head to the dodgy Kia rental car self-conscious in neon bike gear and punch in the address to the fat bike rental place nearby on my GPS and head off.

You know some days when you are on the program, and you just want to keep going regardless of consequence. None of this austerity cranking, nothing thoughtful, just go-full. Today was like that. Blinkers on – target in sight. Only thing you can possibly do wrong is not listening to the little voices in my head saying don’t go. Stay here and relax. Well, I don’t do that. Oh no.

I was (am), will be tomorrow probably as well, in that mode. Leading an online life of silly competitions on Strava, sorting out personal bests in my mind, on spreadsheets and with my accountant. Sort of out of sorts because it should be the end of the winter but it’s not and I really just want to ride for 10 hours straight without descending into cold chaos.

I drive, I arrive and it was not the fat bike rental place with an inviting crew and welcoming trail system. No. It was just some stupid hotel next to a lake without much to offer for the fat biking community other than a cute frame to take a picture next to, or through I should say. And a very thin slice of moon over a very neat and tidy lakeside community.

Where was the place? Was it my marginal understanding of French? The odd propensity I have towards getting lost with a gps? Or just nature telling me to go and buy cold chicken, organic soy beverages and pineapple and go back to the hotel? Lie about my goal on Strava. Keep up with the completion.

You know, I had this thought waiting in line at the grocery store about how hard we all try to be good people and how hard we try to reach our goals, and then some nights you end up in line behind a guy who is eating junk and obviously drinking beer for supper and you think – well, maybe you gotta just say fuck it once in a while. I mean, if he doesn’t care about the appalling state of his body and knows he gonna die sooner than later then who are we to judge?

Is this wrong? Or just a sign of not being invited to his party? Or of being over-tired and cranky and slightly off balance?

To cap it off, all the “moving” sunrise pictures I took in the bone-chilling winds lately look like the nasty pictures we make fun of at my mother in law’s place. They are posted there in the elevator, bizarrely on display – apropos of nothing. I get the shivers and realize I have been living in those pictures. Those same pictures I mock and deride are now my panoramas. Well, here they are for your pleasure. You be the judge.

In conclusion, all I can say is that it’s a good thing I’m off to Hawaii in three days. A very good thing. I have only a few words left to say about this unpleasant state. The unpleasant state of being in a situation you don’t like. And that is: keehi mai i kou hoki. Maybe twice. Mahalo.